


Green Tea & Peanut Butter

by SpareChange



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Character, Coming Out, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, i still don't get tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpareChange/pseuds/SpareChange
Summary: Late nights, little sleep, peanut butter, and green tea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime after Extraordinary X-Men #7

There are no nights in Limbo.

There are no days either, either; there was no sun to break the horizon, no moon to catch honey gold rays and cast them off in silver beams. There was only the glow of ember and hellfire in the endless distance, a pulsing light that surrounded the school’s campus like the flash of a warning, punctuated by the distant wail of demons outside the barriers. The sky was forever caught in the orange-gold haze of an eternal moment, neither morning nor night, and time was lost somewhere in the magic that permeated through the air and the earth and every fiber of the dimension. It made finding sleep notably difficult for the newer denizens of the building, a special sort of magic induced jetlag, and Shiro Yoshida was certainly and unfortunately no exception.

He sat in the room they had given him, white sheet draped across his waist, his knee raised and his elbow perched against it. He reached his free hand up and raked it against his scalp, brushing back the long ends of his jet-black hair and away from his dark eyes. He watched the world outside, glaring out at the empty expanse of the hell dimension that loomed before him, all brimstone and sulfur and demons.

Shiro grimaced, kicking the sheet from off his body and swinging his leg over the edge of the bed. He rose from where he sat, stretching up to his full height, his spine popping, a satisfied groan escaping his lips. Then, he donned the nearest shirt and existed his room. 

Logan stood there on the other side of the door, or at least the old man that passed for him.

“Shiro.” The old man’s voice was heavy, arms folded against his chest, his gaze steel. 

“Wolverine.” Shiro met his gaze evenly. This was not Logan, not any one that the atomic knight had ever known. He was older, marred by deep wrinkles in his leathered skin, and even Shiro could read the lines of a fatigue that ran much too deep to be removed with sleep. His hair was shorter than the man the Asian man was used to, close cut, dark and gray. This was a man lost, a stranger who did not belong.

“Ain’t Wolverine. Just Logan.” 

“You are no Logan that I know.”

“You got that right, bub.” The Canadian leaned his weight against the wall, blue eyes narrowing. “I don’t know you from Adam. Far as you need to be concerned, you an’ me are strangers.”

“What do you want?” Sunfire mirrored the elderly man, crossing his arms against his own chest, clenching his fists around the dark fabric of his shirt against his biceps.

“Oh, I don’t want a damn thing from _you_ , Yoshida.” Being shorter and much older didn’t stop Logan from crowding into Shiro’s space suddenly, tilting his head up to face the Japanese man. Shiro scrunched his features, taking in the raw scent of the grizzled elder, stale beer and tobacco and worn leather. “There’s nothing I want from a traitor.”

Anger flared up quick in Shiro’s gut, boiling his blood. He pressed forward, bumping his chest against the feral, and felt the head spread through his body instinctively. If he had wanted, he could’ve burned the skin right off of him, made it blacken and crack and peel, watched him boil beneath the gaze of the sun. But there was precious little to be gained from that beyond the satisfaction of him down a few pegs, not now, not while there were still mutants in his care that needed sanctuary, that needed the X-Men. Still, Shiro let his temperature rise, let the heat radiate off him in waves.

“I am no traitor, _Logan_ , whether you trust me or not.” Shiro spat his name like it was poison in his mouth, like the man didn’t deserve the dignity. Dark eyes watched the beads of sweat form along the shorter man’s brow. It was a small victory, but it would be enough. “I made what I thought was the best choice. The you I knew would understand.”

“The ‘me’ you knew is _dead_.” Logan snarled, baring his teeth. The silence that followed between them was heavy and then, just as quickly as he had invaded, he took a few steps back. The old man waved his hand dissmisively. “You can turn the temperature down, ‘fire. I ain’t lookin’ fer a pissin’ contest. Supposed to watch you, so that’s what I’m doing.” Logan turned away, making his way to the other end of the long hallway. “Don’t go startin’ anything, I won’t have to finish nothin’.”

“That’s it? You antagonize me and walk away?”

“That’s it, Yoshida. It’s late, and I ain’t in the mood for a tussle.” Logan called over his shoulder. “Do what you want, stay out of trouble.”

And with that, Logan disappeared around the corner, though Shiro doubted he would be going very far. The pyrokinetic stood there for only a moment, glaring at the space where Logan had once been, his dark eyes narrowed and the heat that had built up inside him subsiding. With an indignant huff, Shiro turned and walked off towards where he hoped the kitchen would be.

Unlike most everyone else who had every lived beneath the moniker of ‘X’, Shiro had never called the mansion his home. His time within its walls had always been brief, passing moments where he had either found himself in their ranks or against them. These halls were unfamiliar, cold and foreign. 

It didn’t take long for Shiro to find the kitchen, though he was disappointed to find that he would not have the space to himself. Bobby Drake sat alone, not yet aware of the presence observing him.

Despite himself, Shiro took Bobby in; his white t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, the hem of his short sleeves cuffing tightly around strong biceps the dusting of blonder hair along the length of his forearm. Nimble fingers reached up to scrub at light brown hair idly, thin pink lips wrapping carefully around a spoon. Even with the distance, Shiro could hear the pleased moan escape the younger man’s lips, could see his eyes fluttering shut. It pricked at Shiro’s nerves, made him shiver with annoyance.

Shiro glared, considered his options and, with a resigned sigh, stepped fully into the kitchen.

Bobby smiled around the spoon, hummed pleasantly, and busied himself with working through the rest of the peanut butter in his mouth while he waved. 

“Finally up and about, huh? Had us worried, there.” Shiro nodded curtly. He had essentially been out of commission since they had found him in Weirdworld and made his way to the nearest cabinet and searched its contents. Dissatisfied with the results, he shut door and moved over to the next, before quickly repeating the action again, and then once more. Bobby watched, taking the spoon from his mouth with pop and digging the stainless steel back into the jar and digging out another heaping helping. 

“Need some help there, Sun-san?” Bobby managed around a mouthful of peanut butter, his voice muffled, silvery metal held precariously between his fingers. Shiro grimaced a thin line, once again debating on the merit of interaction. He had already had a falling out with one X-Man, did he really need to risk another? Even still, the idea of something to calm his nerves appealed too greatly. A second sigh, and Shiro called back over his shoulder.

“Where do you people keep your tea?”

The brunet was up in almost an instant, spoon clattering against the table as it fell unceremoniously from his lips. His bare feet padded silently against the linoleum, and Shiro quickly averted his gaze upon realizing that the younger man had only clothed his lower half with a loose pair of blue and white stripped boxers, faded with a lack of care and overuse. Bobby squatted down to rummage through some of the lower cabinets, and Shiro couldn’t fight the draw of his eyes; the flex of Bobby’s thighs, the curves of his skin. Bobby rose up triumphantly, raising the kettle above his head, and riding his shirt up just a bit, giving Shiro just the barest sight of the smooth, taut flesh of his stomach.

“Yeah, it can be pretty hard to find stuff around here. Hank did the redesign, so everything is a bit screwy.” Bobby chuckled. “Anyway, what’s your poison, S-man?” He asked, making his way over to a further cabinet and revealing a wide array of small, brightly colored boxes. “Storm and Forge have a thing about tea, and you’d be surprised how many the geezer throws back when he isn’t downing beer like a frat boy.” Bobby chuckled to himself, grabbing one of the many containers and examining it. “We got Blueberry, Raspberry, Ginseng, Sleepytime, Green Tea, Ginger with Honey, Earl Grey-“

“Please,” Shiro interjected, a shade of annoyance bubbling up quickly to mirror the pleased grin Bobby way now sporting, raising his hand to silence the other man further before something that passed for witty in America was said. “Green Tea will be fine. Thank you, Robert.” With a sure nod, Bobby took his selection and got to work.

Bobby pressed down on the black lever just above the handle of the kettle, hovering his free hand over the opening. He focused on his power, the bright spot in his head where his ability grew like a winter storm, felt the chill climbing up his spine, spreading from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair. He breathed slowly, and Shiro could see it cloud with the cold. Power erupted from his fingertips, and ice quickly filled the metal container up to its brim. Satisfied with his work, Bobby presented the frozen contents, sitting of few teabags on top of it, before closing the lid shut.

“You mind?” Iceman questioned, shaking the kettle a bit. Sunfire caught on quickly, setting his own fingers alight and grabbing the kettle by its base. Bobby watched the fire lick at the sides for only a moments, moving to collect a few teacups from another cabinet. “What’s got you up, anyway? I think its like…3 am, maybe? Time in Limbo is _weird_ , man.”

“I could ask you the same thing, couldn’t I?”

“Mm. _Are_ you asking me?”

“I suppose I am.” Shiro responded after a moment, turning up the heat in his hand just a bit. Bobby paused for a moment, glaring at the many decorative cups they owned.

“Okay. Sure. Why not? So, despite the paradise we’re living in here and Illyana’s sunny disposition, Limbo is an actual hellhole.” Bobby laughed, setting down the two cups next to each other on the long wooden table. “My powers have had a bit of an upgrade lately, so I help defend our little piece of heaven in hell when we can’t keep the barriers up. But it takes a lotta carbs to keep that kind of power going, so I get late night munchies.” Bobby shrugged. “Your turn.”

The kettle whistled, signaling its contents were finished, and Shiro went to pour some into the two cups.

“I have had trouble sleeping, as of late.” Shiro took a seat at the nearest cup. He wasn’t sure when he began having a conversation with the younger man, or when he became comfortable with the idea of it. Still, here he was, waiting for Robert to claim his original seat and his own cup of tea. “It has little to do with how long I burned in Weirdworld, or this…place we now inhabit.” Sunfire waved around himself dismissively. “I believe…I was once cosmic fire, Robert. I do not believe one can just walk away from that.”

“What was it like?” Bobby broke the silence that had built up between them, pushing his peanut butter away and quirking an inelegant brow. Shiro stared on blankly. “The whole “sipping from the cosmic cup” thing. Very poetic, by the way.” The brown haired man added after a beat, his grin toothy and wide. “Summers is a terrible gossip.”

The samurai paused, pointedly ignoring the younger man’s attempts at levity, and searched for an answer. How could he explain it? How could he put words to the fire that still crept beneath his skin, the smoke in his lungs? Even now, he could feel it like a phantom limb, like a piece of himself was just out of his reach, like the hungry embers of a flame desperate to erupt. “It’s still there. I can feel it. Burning just beneath the surface. It took me so long to pull myself back from the…the nothing it left me. It was like I didn’t have a body anymore, just a space I filled. Like the fire swallowed me up And it’s still _there_ , Robert. Haunting me. Sometimes, I am not sure I’m here. Like I am still just a fire without form.”

“I…” Bobby considered the words, placing his cup down, his features scrunching with concentration. “Yeah…yeah, I get that.” Shiro raised his brow. “Really, I do! You aren’t the only one whose had some weird goings on lately. You wouldn’t believe…oh crap.”

Bobby sighed, slouching deeper into his seat, making the worn wood groan in protest at his sudden shift in weight. He dug the palms of his hands against his shut eyes and scrubbed away his frustration.

“Robert?” Shiro intoned, though his brow quirked curiously.

“No, no, its nothing,” the brown haired man waved off the question before letting his arms fall limply to his sides. “I just realized I’m going to have to have some version of this conversation with everyone I’ve ever met.” Shiro’s brow furrowed, and Bobby shrugged in response. “I’ll have a panic about that later. Okay, so, I’ve had, like, a lotta crazy in my life. Like, an obscene amount of crazy. I’m not even talking about the regular mutant crazy stuff. I’m talking _crazy_ crazy. I tried to freeze the whole world a while ago.”

“Why would you freeze the world?” Shiro inquired, raising his cup to take a few careful sips of his tea.

“I don’t know, man. Apparently I’m really, really repressed. Which, I guess makes sense, considering…” Another pause, and the frequency of them now made Shiro uncomfortable. He was not used to so much silence from the X-Man.

“Robert?” He tried again.

“So, like, theres this teeny bopper version of me running around now, right?” Bobby wasn’t even looking at Shiro anymore, motioning with his hands emphatically and focusing only on his untouched cup of tea. “And this kid, honestly, he’s so much braver than I thought I could ever be, and he’s decided that he wants to actually be himself.” Shiro listened intently, hearing the brightness in Bobby’s tone sobering, serious. “And I realized, if he can be that brave, then I can be that brave too. Obviously.”

Bobby heaved another big sigh, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort.

“’Ro, I’m gay.”

Shiro felt his pulse skip a beat, felt his fingers clench around the handle of his cup, and he wasn’t sure why. “Whats your point?” Shiro’s voice was terse, and Bobby sighed in relief, as if the carelessness of Shiro’s tone was a comfort, like it was the reaction he wanted; like it meant nothing had changed between them.

“My point, ‘ro, is that…man, when you and I first met, you were trying to kill me and my friends, and I was pretty sure I was going to die in the closet. Now, we’re here. Change is kinda what we do best.” Bobby took a chance, reaching across the space between them and placing his hand over Shiro’s. Shiro didn’t flinch. Bobby squeezed his hand. “Huh.” Bobby’s voice softened, another smile creeping across his features.

“What?” Shiro was surprised by the softness of his own voice, his dark eyes drawn to where their hands touched.

“Your hands are warm.” Brown eyes met dark ones and, if at all possible, Bobby’s smile grew brighter. “I thought they’d be, like, really hot.”

“I…” Shiro swallowed dryly. “You too.”

The moment between them was long, perhaps longer than it should have been. Regardless, they sat there together, Bobby’s fingers tight around Shiro’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't...know...how to end this...


End file.
